Timbre: The Internship

Hopeless Hope

“Can somebody put the curtains down?”

 “Timothy please, I really can’t tolerate sunlight or any kind of light right now. My head is killing me.”  Still no response from my butler after a second plea and it seems unlikely. I don’t recall him asking for a day off so he must be here.

Damn itch. Itch on my back. Can’t scratch. Must. Reach. Back.

Where on earth are my hands? Why can’t I feel my hands?!

And my feet?! 

To check if I still have feet, I have to forcefully lift my lids. After the initial burn of sunlight on my retina I find my hands shackled to the headboard and my feet very tightly tied up.

Pretty sure I did not volunteer. Restraint isn’t really my thing.  If this was a kidnapping, why am I in my own room? I feels like my room. Or is it my room?

As I try with might to partially sit I observe my environment.

Well, that is my tv, my stack of books and song sheets, my guitar, the painting gift from a previous intern and my musk is all over the place. This is my room, I am in my room.

Not sure if I was peculiarly calm or totally panicked that I still get to be keen amidst this killer headache.

The only odd thing besides me being like a helpless fetus in my own room is the absence of 2 glasses of water with a plate of sliced apples on my bedside table which are the first items I always see in the morning. Timothy always sets them up sure enough before I wake. And I mean always.

Timothy is like a robot, robo-butler, a robutler.

 A 60-ish Italian robutler who I stole from my dad after his 3rd wife died- my mom after giving birth to me. Old man thought a butler was good enough to act a role of a mother. Still thankful though, better than a 4th wife surgically customized stepm-

“Good morning Justin, looking for your apples?” A familiar voice interrupted

I sure know that voice, sounds like an ambitious red headed overly attached psycho-bitch named Hope. Ironic right? Her name is Hope yet you know the rest…

As I turned to confirm my theory, I see her holding a tray with just apple slices.

“Here is your morning regime, SIR.”  I hint a bad Italian accent, hardly imitating Tim.

“If you’re trying to be my butler, can you least do it right? Hint: I don’t enjoy waking tied up.”

Hope was one of my ex- interns in the studio. Her resume stood out from the pile, but when she came for the interview, her breasts stood out more.

After I hired her she has proven that she is more than just a pretty face with a magnificent pair, doing 5 man jobs effortlessly and she serves coffee with just the right amount of sugar and hint of cinnamon. Which I am telling you is a hard task, I can’t remember the countless times of coffee spitting that has had happened ever since I started hiring interns.

To be honest, she was not the first intern that I slept with. I know it sounds horrible but I did not intend for those things to happen, they just did or may I say, we just did.

Getting in bed with the boss was not a pre-requisite for a spot in my crew, I don’t remember screwing Johnny and Carlos before hiring them. Somehow I think the ladies just assumed and technically they were begging for it, even though I was very clear that only their efficiency in the studio and not in bed can get them promoted. And more importantly, if they ever want more than what they’re getting, the internship is over.

Hope was a hopeless case of clingy and ambitious, she was talking about the both of us running the label and taking over the world like Beyoncé and Jay-Z. I mean, capital DREAM ON. So I told her,

“Not in a million years, if you want to keep your job, keep your fantasies to yourself.”

Then she dropped the L word - that was the moment I knew that keeping her in the studio would be a big mistake. Somehow I feel a little responsible for the disaster, you can’t blame me for being thorough and highly skilled. If you know what I mean ;)

So I recommended her to a friend of mine who was also in music and an internship was waiting for her there. Least I could do for her after what I’ve done to her or may I say, after doing her.

She didn’t like the interning for another company I guess, and now here I am, shackled to my own bed being force fed apples by this hopeless Hope.

This was record breaking, the furthest an ex-intern has gone. I was used to leaked photos, egg throwing, busted car windows and sexual harassment cases.

“Where’s Timothy?”

“Oh, so that was grandpa’s name huh?”

“Where is he? Did you hurt him you psychotic bitch?!”  I was nearly losing it, my hands and feet desperately trying to cut loose but the more I move the more I hurt myself.

“Relax, he will not starve, he’s locked in the pantry.” Then taking a bite off a sliced apple

“What the hell do you want?  You didn’t like the company I recommended you to? See, I was really trying to be nice, her label was the best next to mine you know. If you wanted a different one, you should have just called!”  I was yelling at the top of my voice, hoping for someone to hear me. But my house was a perfect location for a hostage taking, the next house was half a mile away. But I was taken aback seeing her eyes drenched in tears and her lips shaking.

“You really don’t get it do you? Am not here because of the stupid internship. I’m here because of you. I love you Justin, I really really do.  I thought we had something special and am not just some stupid intern you blow your steam off to. Is there something wrong with me? Am I ugly? Am I not -“

“Stop it right there.” I really can’t continue listening to this, I must take action before Timothy dies of asphyxia.

“You’re not ugly, in fact you are very beautiful.” Especially now with runny makeup and messed up hair, matches your sanity.

“I am?”

“Yeah.  And very very sexy too.” I can see her blushing. Seriously? Now, what else can I say that can lessen her rage?

“You don’t need to do this, we can talk if you want to, settle our disputes.” I wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t an emergency. I hate settling as much as I hate talking about feelings and stuff. That’s why I have her banned from my building, that’s how I end things.

“I thought you didn’t like talking, this was the only way I thought of for you to listen to what –“

“Kablam!” After she collapsed to the floor, I was looking at Timothy with a skillet on his hand.

“Are you okay sir Justin?”